Daily Archives: June 7, 2009

For Virginius and Frankie Mae

Yesterday, June 6, was the anniversary of my mother’s death. Today marks the anniversary of the death of my father. In honor of my parents, this is the story of how they met. As a writer, I have the opportunity and the license to tell this story in the present tense.

 Frankie Mae is young and beautiful. Her waitress uniform hugs her farm girl figure. A nametag is pinned to her breast: Frankie Mae. She has a fancy handkerchief folded like a flower pinned on the other breast.  As she picks up her order, she looks up in time to see the handsomest man she has ever seen sit down at the counter. His army cap is tilted over his left eye. His brown uniform shirt is starched and ironed but it is open at the throat and his sleeves are rolled up revealing tattoos on his forearms: “Mother” on the right arm and “USA” on the left.

It is love at first sight.

Frankie Mae sidles over to the stranger and smiles at him “What can I get for you, soldier?”

He grins at her. “You on toast, darling.”

Frankie Mae turns away and treats him to the sight of her bottom waving goodbye as she walks slowly over to the coffee pot and comes back with a cup of coffee.

He holds out his hand. “Since I plan for us to be good friends I should introduce myself. My name is Virginius, but my friends call me Click. You should call me Click and I will call you Bug.”

“But my name is…”

“Frankie Mae. I know. I can read. But you have this cute little mole on your chin that looks like a bug – so I think I’ll call you “Bug”.”


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Filed under Breadcrumbs, Nonfiction